


Rochefort's Magnificent Bed

by evilmaniclaugh



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Crack Fic, M/M, crack meta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 02:19:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3191624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilmaniclaugh/pseuds/evilmaniclaugh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or.... if Athos had a bodice it would be ripped clean off. The aftermath of episode 2.3.  Shameless crack.  </p><p>Spoilers up to 2.3 ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rochefort's Magnificent Bed

Bored out of his skull, Athos shifted position and leant disconsolately on the wall, planning new and exciting methods of murdering the king. Why did _he_ always get the blame for everything? Why was _he_ the one to get shouted at all the time? It wasn’t as if anyone actually listened to him when he suggested anything. He sighed loudly. What had gone wrong? There was a time when everyone used to look up to him and hang on his every word, and yet now he was nothing more than scenery. They clearly respected him more when he was a grubby drunk and had that air of brave pathos about him. Drinking was the answer. Lots and lots of wine would improve his status. And perhaps he should wash his hair less. It was altogether too fluffy.

“Athos,” hissed Porthos, his head poking out from a curtained doorway.

“What?” Athos glared at him. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“No,” said Porthos, looking his leader up and down.

“Well, I am.” The glare intensified. “I’m guarding the king’s chambers so that no one disturbs him while he’s fucking my wife,” he said, his voice rising in pitch and volume with every syllable.

Porthos wiped the film of fine spittle from his face. “Believe me, no one’s interested. It’s a case of been there, done that.”

Athos harrumphed.

“And anyway I’ve got something to show you,” added Porthos.

“I’ve seen it,” said Athos folding his arms.

“Not this you haven’t,” sniggered Porthos. “It’s funny. Honestly. You’ve got to take a look.”

However much he tried to resist, Athos was intrigued and, to be honest, anything was better than listening to the: “Louis! Mon dieu, Louis,” that was coming from the other side of the ornate double doors. 

“I’ll make it worth your while,” said Porthos with a grin. 

Athos pushed himself upright and followed the big man out of the royal chambers and along the service corridors of the Palais Royale. “How do you know your way so well around here?” he asked and then he looked suspiciously at his friend. “Porthos, you haven’t been filching the royal silver again, have you?”

“No, of course not.” Porthos looked offended. “But it don’t hurt to have a backup plan for retirement. You never know when your mates are going to cock up. The next crossbow bolt might land somewhere more disabling.”

Athos was thrown by this display of forward thinking from Porthos. He himself rarely had a plan, let alone a backup plan. His main concern nowadays was where to get enough carrots to feed his pet bunny rabbit, now that he’d wrecked the market vendor’s stall and she refused to sell her produce to him.

“We’re here,” said Porthos, listening carefully at an ebonised and intricately gilded door.

“This is new,” said Athos.

“I never realised you were so familiar with the cardinal’s chambers,” said Porthos, side eying him curiously.

Athos coughed. The special relationship between him and the cardinal was kept on a strictly need to know basis: ie, no one needed to know, especially his best friends. Everyone had itches to scratch and Richelieu’s were many and varied and, frankly, quite fascinating to take care of. Much the same as Captain Treville. In fact, occasionally the three of them had…

Aware of an inappropriately timed tightening in his breeches, Athos stopped thinking about past shenanigans and instead looked to the open door ahead of him.

“Behold,” said Porthos with an Aramisian flourish. “Take a gander at Rochefort’s bed. Isn’t it mental?”

Athos gazed in amazement. It was a theatrical nightmare. Black, gilded and adorned with regal drapery, it was camper than a row of tents, more diabolical than Mephistopheles’ boudoir and sexier than Madame Angel’s most luxurious den of iniquity.

“Want to try it out?”

“Eh what?” said Athos, raising a nervous eyebrow at Porthos. There had never been a hint of this between them before. They’d stripped together, bathed together, massaged each other’s aching parts and occasionally enjoyed a moment of mutual hand relief, but nothing more intimate than that. Athos knew better than to put out for the men. If he wasn't careful he’d spend more time on his back than he did in the saddle, and, however appealing that might sound, he knew better. No, he was fucking a path _up_ the chain of command, the noble way.

“I’m asking if you fancy a tumble in Rochefort’s bed,” growled Porthos.

Fucking hell! Athos’ prick was begging for a good hard come and his arse wouldn’t say no to a seeing to either.

“Come on, Athos. Everyone knows you’re secretly the sluttiest bottom in the regiment,” grinned Porthos. “You’ve probably already been on your knees for Rochefort.”

No. Not so. An utter fabrication. At least not for a few years and everyone knew it didn’t count after so much time had passed. “I am not,” he said indignantly, “and I have not.”

“So, you aren't up for a fuck then?”

“I didn’t _precisely_ say that,” said Athos, glancing first at Porthos and then at the bed. They were both an incredibly appealing proposition, and it would teach Rochefort a lesson over his current level of bitchiness.

Porthos’ grin was a thing of legends, and to see it planted across his face at the idea of them having a screw was hugely exciting to Athos.

“Come on then, lovely.” Porthos slid an arm around Athos’ waist and pulled him close. “You’re such a curvaceous little thing. I’ve been wanting you in my bed for years.”

“If you’d managed to take your paws off Aramis for a moment perhaps you’d’ve got what you wanted sooner,” smirked Athos.

“Not so,” laughed Porthos, undoing Athos’ belts and then delving into his breeches and having a good, old fashioned fumble. “I know the way you roll. I know _who_ you roll.”

Though apparently not everyone on the list, thought Athos as his knees weakened and he held on tight to Porthos’ shoulders, looking forward to the ride.

“Shall we?” said Porthos, indicating the bed and then throwing Athos onto it. “Between the sheets, or on the covers?”

“In bed would seem more wicked,” said Athos, sliding between the layers of black silk and watching Porthos reveal himself in all his glorious glory.

Porthos knelt over him, cock jutting out like a sabre as he undressed Athos, his eyes on fire with need. “We’re going to have some fun.”

Athos gave into his desire and moaned for attention. “Please,” he said as Porthos stroked every part of him but his cock.

“You have such pretty nipples,” said Porthos, laving each one in turn. “And the neatest little waist.” He licked his way down the line of hair that pointed southward. “I’ve wanted to get my hands around that for so long.” He sucked a path across each hip bone and then turned his attention to Athos’ belly, fucking his tongue slowly in and out of his navel until Athos was at screaming point. “Hush, lovely. I’ll have you soon enough.”

“Now,” insisted Athos, attempting to turn onto his knees.

“What do we have here?” said Porthos, holding him in place with a splayed hand to his stomach. “A treasure trail that leads to something even more tempting.” The tip of his tongue worked a meandering path over Athos’ cock, as delicate as a feather. “And you _know_ how much I like treasure.”

“More,” Athos begged. “Porthos, put your bloody mouth on me.”

Porthos sat up and grinned. “I love the way your eyes flash when you’re all tense and needy.”

“And I’m sure you’ll love the way I cry your name when you suck my damn cock.”

“Let’s find out shall we, pretty man.” Porthos went down on him, drawing him in deep and long and then swallowing him into his throat.

Silk sliding beneath his fingertips, Athos did indeed make a lot of noise as Porthos sucked him off. They were both very vocal lovers and, up close, Porthos' mouth was even more magnificent than it looked from a distance. In fact, when he was deprived of it, Athos made a very unmusketeerish whimpering sound.

"All's good, precious," said Porthos, rolling over and lying on his back, his erection rock solid against his belly. He was a box of delights. "Mount me," he rumbled. "I want to wrap my hands around your narrow little waist as you ride me to Heaven and back."

Athos gulped. Porthos had the power of making the wrong things sound disgracefully right. He leaned over to the bedside drawer. Rochefort always kept a supply of useful stuff in there and, lo and behold, he discovered a dozen of bottles of harem oils.

"How did you know?" asked Porthos as Athos slathered his hands and cock in rose scented lube.

"Look around you," smirked Athos. "Does he not seem the type?" To distract Porthos further he straddled him, reaching for his cock and then jiggling his hips to nudge that bulbous knob into position.

"Go, baby, go," breathed Porthos, clasping his hands firmly around Athos' waist.

Athos waited, time ticking a torturous passage, his balls aching in anticipation. Resisting the downward force of Porthos' muscles for as long as possible, he eventually relinquished the fight and slid, sudden and smooth, onto that oiled up prick until their bodies came together with a delicious slap of slippery flesh. 

"That's the way," growled Porthos. "Ride me to death. Squeeze me with those muscles."

It was a joyful abandoned fuck. A fuck that was pleasure seeking and willful, full of wicked intent and fun. They slammed together, Athos' hand whipping over his cock with Porthos holding him firm until the end was nigh for both men.

"Over you go," said Porthos, shoving Athos onto all fours. "Let's finish off in style and make a proper mess of the bastard's bed."

On his knees, with Porthos' hand working him, Athos arched like a cat and came in dollops over the sheets.

"That's it, you little beauty," cried Porthos, the forceful thrust of his cock causing Athos to skate across the silky surface. Pulling free, he cried out in climax and spent into the palm of his hand.

"What are you doing?" asked Athos as he watched Porthos dip his finger into the fluid and paint designs onto the sheet.

"Marking our territory." Porthos grinned at him. "You any good at drawing fleurs de lys?"

"Never tried doing it using come," said Athos. "I'll give it a go."

Finally satisfied with their work, they left the shadowy confines of the bed. 

"What now?" said Athos as he finished getting dressed, tipping his hat to a jauntier angle than it had been of late.

"Let's get drunk and then fuck some more," said Porthos.

"But what about Aramis?" asked Athos.

"He's being weird." Porthos pulled a face. "He keeps asking me to impregnate him with my seed. I think he's lost the plot."

"Or maybe it's the writers," said Athos cryptically. Too cryptic for his own limited intellect.

"Off to the Dog and Duck then," said Porthos cheerily, slipping his arm through Athos'. 

This was a plan Athos heartily approved of, mostly because it involved wine and he'd missed wine so very much. Also, there was a greengrocer opposite the pub where he might be able to pick up some carrots for his pet rabbit.

\---

The next day at court was a good one. Athos didn't care how many times the king made cow eyes at Milady, he had Porthos' hand on his arse and, all things considered, life was excellent.

Meanwhile, Rochefort strode up and down the line of Musketeers, scowling at them fiercely. "Someone came in my chamber and violated me whilst I was not there."

"That's bloody miraculous" sniggered Porthos and Athos chuckled until he caught a glare from Treville. Ever since his boyfriend, de Foix, had died in his arms, all the captain did was frown. They must endeavour to cheer him up. Maybe he'd like to make some fleurs de lys too.

"Silence, Musketeer," shouted Rochefort, stamping around in his high heeled shoes like a Parisian fashion victim. "I have evidence." He threw back a curtain to reveal the sperm spattered sheet.

"They came out quite well," murmured Athos from behind his hand, smirking when Porthos squeezed his arse.

"Luckily, I also have a detection device." Rochefort indicated a giant brass instrument to his left, made up of endless cogs and pulleys and seemingly powered by some kind of steam engine. "This is my patented Roche-O-Scope™ what I have invented." He put on a pair of shiny goggles and pulled a lever. "Now if only I had a cipher machine to decode the instruction book."


End file.
